


Fragility

by Elle82



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 22:40:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3267014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elle82/pseuds/Elle82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal wakes with a migraine and Will looks after him. (Prompt from Hannibal Kink Meme)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragility

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt: Hannibal wakes up with the start of a crippling migraine. He just about manages to send a text to Will cancelling his appointment before it all gets too much.
> 
> Hannibal rarely sends text messages so when Will gets a badly spelt text message from Hannibal in the early hours of the morning he’s very concerned. 
> 
> Will looks after Hannibal :)
> 
> ...
> 
> Okay, so I’ve never had a migraine, but I did a quick bit of reading up on it. Hope it sounds plausible! Hope the OP likes this, wherever they are.

 

_Baltimore, Maryland_

 

It starts at about 5am on a Saturday, a familiar feeling behind Hannibal’s left eye waking him from sleep. It begins like a tickle, like a niggling sensation, like an itch you can’t scratch. He gets up from the bed, quickly going to the bathroom to urinate and fill a glass with water. By the time he gets back to the bedroom, the tickle is long gone, replaced by a dull throb. He knows what’s coming. 

 

Hannibal rests his head on the cool pillow, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate on his breathing. The last time he had a migraine was almost a year ago, and it had knocked him out for the better part of 48 hours. He was able to get a message to his secretary who rescheduled his appointments, but her job description didn’t go beyond that. So for two days, Hannibal subsisted on water and crackers. The migraine kept him from cooking and the nausea kept him from food. By the end of it all, his suits were a little looser and his face noticeably gaunt.  

 

Reaching for his phone, Hannibal winces as the light from the screen pierces through the darkness. The migraine was taking hold, spreading behind his eyes. He opens his messages and clicks on Will’s name. 

 

The throbbing intensifies and the letters on the screen of his phone blur before he is able to tap out a message. He squints and tries to refocus his eyes. Something that kind of makes sense is on the screen, so he hits send and slaps the phone back down on the bedside table before closing his eyes and hoping the enveloping darkness will take the pain away. 

 

 …

 

_Wolf Trap, Virginia_

 

Will is out at the river near his house. It’s early, the only sound around him the rushing of the water over the rocks, the panting of his dogs and the soft _whish-whish_ of his rod as he casts into the river. 

 

Another bad dream had woken him up. Really, it was unusual not to be woken by them, lying alone in bed, sweaty and breathless. So most mornings, Will either goes to the river to fish, or tinkers with old boat motors in his shed until it’s time to start his day.

 

He didn’t feel like venturing into the river today, the water getting too cold even for waders. He’s just about to cast in again when his phone vibrates. Will didn’t always take his phone with him when he was out of the house, but he’d learnt a few months back when he somehow accidentally locked himself and the dogs out of his house without his phone. What resulted was an embarrassing and cold trek to his nearest neighbours two miles away, to use their phone. What a sight he must have been, he thought afterward, the crazy dog man dressed in flannel, come up from the river to interact with the locals. 

 

Will looks down at his phone. It’s Hannibal. 

 

_Wll headsgoing t explode.pain pain pain_

 

Will frowns and quickly reels his line in, whistling to his dogs and running back up to the house. 

 

Hannibal and Will had only been what you could class as ‘in a relationship’ for a few months. Hannibal was not a fan of texting, preferring to speak face-to-face or on the phone. So a text from Hannibal meant he couldn’t talk. And one as poorly constructed as this, from the man who had impeccable handwritten recipes in a rolodex, had Will in a panic. 

 

He ushers the dogs inside and throws the few fish he caught into a box in the freezer. He’ll have to gut them later. Will doesn’t bother changing out of his clothes so he quickly checks the dogs’ water and food levels and races out to his car.

 

…

 

_Baltimore, Maryland_

 

Will makes the 50 mile drive to Baltimore in about 45 minutes, thankful for the quiet roads this early. He didn’t have anything planned for the day, save a dinner at Hannibal’s in the evening. 

 

Their relationship had progressed slowly and purposefully. Will remembered the time he had told Hannibal about kissing Alana Bloom. How Hannibal must have hated him at that point. It was not long after, one night after another of Hannibal’s show-stopping meals, that he had kissed Will in front of the fireplace in his living room. 

 

The kiss did not lead to sex immediately. But Will stayed the night, sleeping next to Hannibal but not in his arms. The next day, both men seemed happy to take it slow. 

 

Will pulls into Hannibal’s driveway. He had stopped at a gas station on the way to pick up some bottles of Gatorade and a cup of coffee that tasted like engine oil. Will loved Hannibal’s coffee. 

 

He lets himself in quietly. They had exchanged keys before they became lovers, Hannibal sometimes feeding Will’s dogs when he was away, and Hannibal returning the favour by giving Will a key and the alarm code, just in case. 

 

Creeping up the stairs to Hannibal’s bedroom, Will toes off his shoes and pads the rest of the way in his socks. 

 

Hannibal’s room is dark and Will can make out a huddled figure in the middle of the bed. 

 

“Hannibal?” Will whispers. 

 

There is a slight movement.

 

“Will.”

 

Will shrugs his jacket off and rolls the sleeves of his shirt up. He sits on the edge of the bed, wondering if he should reach out and touch the man. 

 

“Are you okay?”

 

As soon as the words leave his lips, Will knows it is a silly question, so he tries to make amends.

 

“Shit, I’m sorry. I know you’re not…but what I mean is, can I get you anything?”

 

Hannibal exhales audibly and whispers back. 

 

“More water.”

 

In the muddy morning light, Will can make out the empty glass on the bedside table. He fills it in the ensuite and sits back down on the bed, offering it to Hannibal. 

 

“Thank you, Will.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

Hannibal looks weak and helpless, lying on his stomach, his face turned towards Will. His hair is mussed up, his pyjamas twisted. He looks decidedly un-put together.

 

Will reaches out and gently pushes Hannibal’s hair off his forehead. Hannibal mutters something and Will retreats, afraid he has made things worse. 

 

“N-no. Don’t stop. Keep going.”

 

Will wants to climb into bed and comfort Hannibal, but he is aware of wearing slightly dirty clothes he had been fishing in hours earlier. 

 

“I’m just going to change my shirt, Hannibal. I was out at the river this morning. I’m afraid I’m going to smell.”

 

“Doesn’t matter. Just get in.”

 

So Will obeys and gingerly lies on the bed next to Hannibal. He reaches over and gently strokes Hannibal’s hair again, feeling him lean into his touch ever so slightly. Will presses his free hand into Hannibal’s and rubs his thumb over the back of his hand. Hannibal’s palm is cool and clammy, but he gives Will a small squeeze back, recognizing his quiet, calming presence. 

 

“Tell me something, Will.”

 

Will pauses for a moment, speaking quietly. Measured at just above a whisper.

 

“What do you want me to tell you?”

 

“Anything Will. Give me something to concentrate on, a distraction from the pain.”

 

“Um. My dad used to get bad migraines. Really bad ones.”

 

Will didn’t talk much about his father. Hannibal knew Will had grown up poor in the south and escaped that future of fixing boat motors by joining the police force, going to college and finally joining the FBI. He remembered telling Will he should have been proud of his achievements. Will just ducked his head and shrugged. Hannibal knew at times Will must have been tempted to quit the FBI, leave behind the blood and gore and go back to the boatyards.  

 

“That’s why I learned to tinker with those motors. Even fixed a few. The migraines’d knock dad out for days, and well, if there was no work, there was no food. Not that you could call it real food, best I could do was heat up a can of soup and serve it alongside some crackers –“

 

Will stops as Hannibal shifts. The pain inside Hannibal’s head is nearing explosive, but he wants to be closer to Will. Clumsily, awkwardly, Hannibal moves his form so his head is now resting on Will’s thigh. Will smells of the outdoors and it comforts Hannibal. Will continues to stroke his hair as he hears Hannibal sigh and then whispers for Will to continue. 

  
“Keep talking, Will. Just keep talking.”

 

“Dad was horrible when he got migraines. Not that I blame him. But he’d yell at me, which had to have been painful. He’d throw things around the room. I just let him. When the migraine was over, he’d put his arm around me and apologise.”

 

Will moves his hand down to the nape of Hannibal’s neck, stroking it gently. 

 

“My dad is still in New Orleans, still fixing boat motors. He works for a contractor for the tourist boats that go out on Lake Ponchartrain. “

 

When Will says the name of the lake, his accent slips back. He clears his throat and is sure he blushes in the morning light. 

 

“I send him money every few months. Sent someone to fix up his house after Katrina. I haven’t been to see him in years. I should go down there more often.”

 

Will pauses. Hannibal’s breathing has evened out, and his grip loosened on Will’s free hand. Will runs his hand underneath Hannibal’s pyjama top and rubs his back, as if Hannibal was a child. He continues to do this until his eyes dip and he falls asleep himself. 

 

…

 

When Will wakes, light is peeking at the edge of the curtains. The comforting weight of Hannibal is missing, and as Will’s eyes adjust to the room he notices Hannibal is gone. 

 

Rubbing his face, Will hears sounds in the bathroom. The clock on the beside table reads 11:36am. 

 

The door to the ensuite opens and Hannibal emerges, bags under his eyes and hair messy. 

 

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

 

Will keeps his voice low and quiet. 

 

“More human than a few hours ago. The migraine is fading.”

 

Will swings his legs off the bed, stands up and stretches. 

 

“That’s good. I was worried. Do you think you could stomach something to eat? Or maybe a little bit more sunlight?”

 

Hannibal allows a small smile when he hears Will say he was worried. 

 

“I think so.”

 

They head down the stairs to the kitchen, Will pulling a chair out at the breakfast bar for Hannibal to sit in. He looks surprised. 

 

“You sit. I’m sure I can navigate my way around your kitchen and make something your stomach can tolerate.”

 

Will finds bread and a toaster, and retrieves the Gatorade from where he left it inside the front door. Hannibal looks at it strangely. 

 

“Don’t dismiss the power of Gatorade. It’ll rehydrate you, give you some quick salts and sugars, get some nutrients into you.”

 

Will pours it into a crystal glass, the lurid blue of the liquid not really fitting in with Hannibal’s European kitchen. Nevertheless, Hannibal drinks it down. 

 

The scene is domestic, Will pottering around the kitchen and Hannibal watching him. Hannibal does not often allow himself whims of romantic idealism, but he could get used to this. 

 

Will finds a loaf of sourdough and slices off two pieces, placing them in the toaster while he gets out butter and honey from the fridge. 

 

“I thought perhaps your father had died, Will. You never talked about him much.”

 

“You were listening to all that? I thought maybe I had sent you to sleep with that story.”

 

“No. I was very much awake. I was able to concentrate on the sound of your voice, the words you chose, instead of thinking about my migraine. I did appreciate it.”

 

Will butters the toast and spreads a thin layer of honey on it. He places it in front of Hannibal. 

 

“Eat up, before you fade away.”

 

Hannibal smiles again while Will makes his own toast and sits next to him at the breakfast bar. 

 

Yes, he could get used to this. 

 


End file.
